For You, I Promise
by StormSounds
Summary: Rome stands at the edge of his life, thinking only of one who has been long forgotten. Can his greatest enemy grant Rome's dying wish so that there children may know peace? Lengthy description, AncietGreecexRome.


_Summary: Rome stands at the edge of his life, only thinking of another's that has long since been past. Will his enemy be able to make a promise that it tied to the fate the fate of their children's future? Lengthy description, AncientGreecexRome._

Dying light set fire to the Aegean, looking for all in the world like the fiery blaze of the sun dipping into the sea. One could look out for endless leagues in either direction from the shore, the only breaking of the endless plain of water being the faintly recognizable sight of lands in the distance; the northernmost areas of the curling peninsula that was Greece. As a mother would a child, the coast line lay woven around its sea, as it had for millenniums since man had first set foot out of Africa- since the days that the world once stood united as whole, unbroken by the notion of nations. It had seen lives cherished, lost, treasured, wasted, and slipped away as easily as sand would through fingers. It had seen great men rise from the gravelly plateaus of the southern peninsula, from the rugged mountain passes that scaled it like a spine, and from forests so deep and isolated that its inhabitants had to wonder if anything existed beyond the rich canopies and dense trunks, or if they were just stories and forgotten memories to collect on the wind. This land had witnessed wars won and lost, wars that trampled the earth as they did dot it with graves. Wars fought over power, money, rivalry, revenge, and the perpetual cause of pain among humankind: love.

This land had seen all and knew all to see this side of the Mediterranean, and it had withstood empires that had spread its reaches vast over the hemisphere, only to be torn down by the hands of fate.

'The willing, destiny guides them; the unwilling, destiny drags them,' were the thoughts of Rome as he looked out upon the luminescent ocean below. A carved balcony wrought its way out of the side of the cliffs; architecture rustic even to the era in which the Roman resided in. Volos, like so many Grecian cities, lay along the Aegean shore, eternally caught between the shimmering sky and the waves that collided with its cliffs. It was a certain kind of people that originated in these towns; strong, weathered like the rocks that littered the beaches, but graced with poetic hearts that ran deep as the tide, as one would expect from ones living in a land so rich with simple beauty. Passion seemed to hum in the air of the πόλη, dancing like the sparks of light emitted from porch lanterns lining the streets.

"How ironic to meet the end of life in a place that radiates it like the sun," Rome's gaze remained unbroken as he looked out upon the waters he had come to love.

In the beginning, it had been easy. When he was a child- as nations liked to refer to themselves in their early days of existence, he had constantly heard of nations that had conquered far and wide from the borders of ocean to sea; whose cultures lay the foundation for generations of the world yet to come. Egypt. Mesopotamia. Sumer. Greece. He grew up knowing those names, and their achievements, and wondering what it would be like to feel yourself grow with the passing days, to feel your reach glide from sun to sea. It was that feeling, of influence, of significance, that had driven him to engage in the making of the city of his heart and soul. _Roma Capitale._ The Eternal City. Rome. As the people of the land flocked towards it search of refuge, wealth, and the partaking in the rumored rise of a new civilization unique from the ones before it, so did their cultures. As Rome watched the sun set on another day passed from arched windows looking westwards towards the sea, or beneath the hands of midday heat on streets that winded in a convoluted sprawl throughout the city, he would feel the pull of the Italics, Etruscans, and Greeks upon him. And so he diversified, letting these foreigners change his food, art, music, politics, and attitude until they no longer existed as separate cultures, but as one empire thriving within him. It was that entirety that he had dared to hope for since Remus and Romulus had washed upon his sandy shores. It was the spark that set fire to the birthplace of western civilization.

And then there was her.

For as long as he could remember, she had been there; beneath a column in the city forum; standing among the rocks on the shores of her country as his ships set them ablaze. She never retaliated against him personally- she didn't have too, her warriors were heady enough with bloodlust- but rather watched as he ravaged her declining and war-torn lands, exhausted from an endless series of civil wars, with oceanic turquoise eyes, shadowed beneath a drawn hood but burning still with the embers of a nation that had taken the Mediterranean lands by storm. Ancient Greece gazed out at him with fire in her eyes even as the ashes of her empire settled in her hair.

After the Battle of Corinth, he had made his way through the deserted streets of the city, watching as blood- both Greek and Roman- pooled into the cracks between the bricks beneath him, painting a morbid picture of violence and sorrow. _So much spilled for a battle that was hopeless to begin with._ Having annihilated Carthage earlier that year, and thus defeating his longest-standing rival, Rome had gained access to most of the Mediterranean, casting his ships out into the sea farther than they had ever been able to before. It was only a matter of time before he provoked Greece into battle, resulting in the defeat of Corinth.

_She knew that her demise was inevitable by my hands, and yet still she had sent her warriors out to meet mine on the fields of war. This entire conflict could have been avoided if she had just laid down her weapons peacefully._

But that, admitting failure after so long of holding power over these lands, was something Greece would have rather died before committing to. She was too stubborn, too proud, too ancient relinquish the fire that she had nurtured for so long. She was the tempest that had ruled these waters for centuries before lying down as she had, beneath an olive tree at the edge of the city, at the edge of the massacre named war.

Rome could hear her in his ear as he knelt in the amber swaths of grass, drenched in the dying light of the setting sun. _"One of these days I will pass from this world, and all that will be left is my legacy. My story will be recorded in the knowledge, inventions, ideas, and dreams of my people to live for eras to come. You cannot kill me, for my life shall shape the fate of tomorrow. Can you claim the same?"_

He had stayed there, at that spot beneath the tree's branches, watching as Greece- _His Helena- _had stared with unseeing eyes behind closed lids at a world she was no longer a part of. A world they no longer shared. A sprig of olive clasped over her chest with lifeless hands. A small smile graced her lips, as if her death were a jest between herself and the gods, the conclusion of a game played for the last millennium.

_Enjoy Elysium, Helena, my warrior._

Time passed as it often does when the ones it has hold on would rather it stay in one place- a sunlit field on the outskirts of a devastated city- and yet continued to roll on with the cycle of the moon, disregarding the pain and grief of those left behind by the dead. Rome was not entirely surprised when his guards presented him with a boy they had found wandering outside his villa. He refused to leave even when they threatened violence. He said he was here to see someone. He was asking for his grandfather.

He saw it in the youth's eyes instantly- the same Aegean blue he had known his entire life. Yet this was not Helena, no, this was the nation that had rose from the rubble of a collapsed empire- a catastrophe wrought by his hand. This was the country that Helena left behind.

One by one, along with his political reach, his family grew into a rowdy collection of siblings that seemed to come in with the waves crashing alone his shores. They were dysfunctional, they were broken; they fought, stole, and lied. They were exactly as a family rooted in deceit and bloodshed was destined to be. And yet, within them he recognized the traits of his beloved, so long gone now that she was simply a memory to those who had known her at all. But imbedded in these children of sky and sea, was everything he had reminisced for all of these years.

Turkey had her cunning; her cleverness and stealth glinting in liquid eyes that had held out for her in her darkest hours. It was that skill of mind and action that had allowed her to bend rules and destiny to make her own path in this world. She created her own well of luck, and had used it to fuel her empire's blaze.

To Francis went her grace. It was apparent in every swept of his hand or word of his tongue. He basked in a wealth of elegance and poise the belied a core of inner strength. For it is the beautiful from who you least expect betrayal.

And, of course, Lovino had inherited her fire. That same flame burned in his heart as brightly as Corinth had that day; the same spark in his eyes that spoke of stubbornness and determination. Thy both used their fire as a shield, to protect themselves from being hurt, to guard against enemies who tried to snuff them out; and to remind the world that there was no way in _hell_, that they could ever be forgotten.

They didn't know it- that these characteristics had originated from her. It was him that they owed parentage, but he knew otherwise. They were _hers_, because of everything that they were, they were her children. The children of and Empire.

It was because of this that here had picked here, this lively city so different yet so similar to his own, away from their family of siblings, to join her in his seat among the gods.

"Rome?"

It wouldn't be long now.

He did not acknowledge the voice, but they both knew the answer as well as what that question really asked.

_What are you doing here?_

_Why are you not in hiding?_

_Why did you not run while you had the chance?_

And most importantly…..

…_ Are you ready?_

In all honesty, Roma was tired of running. He knew without turning around what his gaze would behold. A man- no, a warrior- swathed in sheepskin and leather, all flaxen hair, sharp angles, and eyes like a winter afternoon. To Rome, this stage of the game had ended long ago. His wealth was spent, and his people were exhausted as he was. It was part of the reason that he had chosen for the two to meet here, away from the lined faces, darkened windows and crumbling streets of his home. No, he would much rather be here than to have to face silent questions that he had no answers to.

_How can this have happened?_

_What is going on?_

_What will become of us now?_

_How can you, our father, our protector, let this come to be?_

Yes, better to face the sun's dying light than that of his people's.

"It does not have to be like this."

Rome almost laughed aloud, but he maintained his silence. Of course,_ of course_, this foreign man, in his foreign accent, would claim that this was not the gods willing. He was too young, too inexperienced, to know what the truth was. That in war, especially between families, there was no victor. That there is no light at the end of the tunnel, just a black that steals, and twists, and binds. War was the body of a small blond boy, dressed in black and gold, put down to rest in a coffin used far too soon. There was no pride in seeing Helena's pale face, hauntingly serene in death, resting eternally in the grass. No, there was only the emptiness of knowing that everything he had worked for, all of the battles he'd fought, all of the strategies, training, and victories that he had worked so _hard_ to achieve meant nothing in the face of death. Nothing could prepare the cruel reality of knowing that your rise had meant another's destruction.

"Make me a promise, Germania." He could feel him know, just behind him, silent as a forest before the storm. Before the heavens broke lose into hell.

"I have a grandson. He is different from the others- fragile and delicate as he is kind. He sees the world in ways that are so forgotten to people like us, so full of light. He can't see the bad in people, only the good, because his heart is too trusting to allow him to do otherwise. Can you imagine, being that pure? We were all like that once- do you recall?"

Behind his back, Germania was silent in the gathering darkness.

"I worry about him, even though I believe that his heart will prevent situations like ours from coming about. You should see him when he puts his words to the minds of others, how he can make them listen; make them falter on their paths of bloodshed. I have no doubt that it will one day be him who will surpass me in greatness, for it is love that is cherished the most by humankind, not these battles and conflict I have left behind.

"I know that you have grandchildren as well, nations to follow in your wake. One day, when you and I are long forgotten, I pray to the gods that our children will be united in harmony, if not for their sake, but the worlds. Because I am old, and I am tired, and I am done with fighting. So promise me, Germania that you will ask your grandson to protect my Feliciano, so they can know of peace. Promise me, that you while safeguard my legacy."

The blonde's response was quiet and short in coming.

"I will."

Rome smiled into the afternoon light, as radiant as the bands of stars peering out over the horizon.

"Good."

Rome closed his eyes in bliss, knowing that now was the time. This was what he had been waiting for since Helen's closed eyes had looked back at him, so long ago, beneath that olive tree amid a war field of loss. She was the angel that waited beneath the balcony for him, as he had waited for her for all these years, as blade met skin and tore a hole through the Roman's heart.

But fear was not among Roma's emotions as his eyes turned to glass and his spirit died with the last of the evening glow. No, only relief that he was finally where he belonged, embracing Helena in the golden sands of her home, and clasping hands as their images collected on the wind and faded into oblivion. Somewhere, across a sea rich with stories of eras past, the Eternal City shone on, in the hands of young nation of light would soon grace the world, ignited by one whose life he had given so his grandson may live his own. A promise made in respect and awe as Rome walked from this world into the next, his beloved beside him for forever to come.

_I promise I will make sure Ludwig protects your grandson, Rome. For you, who has defied odds, who has broken limits, and made this senseless world see reason. For you, our children shall be happy, not matter what fate may challenge them, for they are the legacies of us, children of love and war. For you, this I promise._

* * *

_- The Battle of Corinth (146 BC) is a battle that was fought between the Roman Republic and the Greek State of Corinth. The battle went to the Romans and thus began the era regarded as 'Roman Greece.' _

_- 'The willing, destiny guides them; the unwilling, destiny drags them,'- Seneca (Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD)_

_- πόλη- town in Greek, I apologize if my translation is wrong, feel free to correct me._

_- I know that Rome was defeated by the German tribesmen in the Battle of the Teutoburg in 9 AD, but I considered this story to be taking place right at the end of the battle. If I am historically inaccurate about this then, again, I apologize, and ignore my last comment._

_-This is my first story I have put up online... ever ;D... so I would love feedback- either positive or constructive criticism. (Now I have to go make a profile! *slinks off*)_

_ Thank you so much for reading!_


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